


God Bless this Sick American

by Fae_King



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dick!France, M/M, Sick!America, Worried!England
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fae_King/pseuds/Fae_King
Summary: Please do Notify me if I had made any grammar errors, I understand that annoys some individuals and I would like to make all my stories enjoyable.





	God Bless this Sick American

**Author's Note:**

  * For [choukoayumi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=choukoayumi).



> Please do Notify me if I had made any grammar errors, I understand that annoys some individuals and I would like to make all my stories enjoyable.

The manor was completely silent save for the steady string of sniffles that escaped the blond as he desperately tried to absorb enough warmth to satisfy his shaking body. Finding that his attempts for what seemed to be his survival failed, Alfred strategized a new form of approach, crying. Tears of pain gushed from him like a rushing river as he felt his body perform a peculiar tango between the warmth of a thousand suns and the rigidness of an outer system dwarf planet. It was excruciating, it reminded him of what his body felt during the civil war, not being able to choose a side, it tore him apart, quite literally.

Removing Texas from his face, Alfred tried to scrub the persistent tears from his eyes, there was no real reason for him to bawl like this. No one had died nor had any damage or harm was brought to his Boyfriends. Huffing in irritation, Alfred willed his body to turn on its side, he did his best not to feel disheartened over the two very large and empty spaces in his bed.

Inhaling deeply, the American concluded that this whole ordeal was beyond unfair, Arthur and Francis had both ran off to attend to some ‘important’ business, leaving Alfred to fend for himself. The American had a half a mind to ring one of them up but felt childish, Arthur, of course, would drop what he was doing and tend to him without a question and Francis would try to get back as soon as he found possible. Besides, he was a grown man, the blue-eyed blond had spent many moons nursing himself without external assistance and he would be damned if he allowed himself to cause any form of hysteria amongst those men.

However, that didn’t prevent him from staring at his phone longing too, they were only one call away. Unable to swallow his pride, Alfred conjured up enough strength to heave himself out the bed and set his feet on the unbearably cold wooden floorboards and all but screamed. Gritting his teeth, the young man slapped his hand down onto Arthur’s Victorian styled nightstand in a pathetic attempt to ignore the pins and needles that the floor was kindly offering him.

“Damn it, Arthur, I told you we should have gotten carpet.” Growling, Alfred decided to let it go, there was no use in wasting energy cursing the shorter male when he wasn’t even there to get a proper reaction.

Shaking his head, he stumbled out of the large room like a drunkard and into the hallway, clutching the wooden rail of the arched grand stairwell. A feeling of dread washed over him like a tsunami would Japan, he could barely walk properly, how the was he supposed to be able to safely travel down a staircase?! Irritated and famished, the blond threw his already little regard for his safety out the window and decided to take the railing down. The American had seen plenty of cases of individuals falling off and injuring themselves but having calculated his options, the sliding down the rail was deemed the safest. Working enough courage and pushing Arthur’s numerous lectures from his mind, Alfred seated himself and allowed his body to fall victim to gravity.

“And I am not dead, whoa god may just exist.” Releasing a sigh, he dismantled himself and slowly shuffled to the kitchen or at least attempted to, his body had failed him once more and he found himself collapsed on the coach as his irises became familiar with his eyelids.

~~~

“I did not like the way he was looking at you!” Francis bellowed as Arthur blatantly ignored his jealousy and left the warmth of the airport in exchange for knee-high snow.

“Oh my god, he was just looking! Let them look! They all know they can’t touch.” The Frenchman blinked unbelievingly as Arthur fiddled with a hook of keys trying to unlock their vehicle and bask in its heat. “Now, stop your fussing my Darling, we need to get home. Alfred hasn’t responded to my calls at all.” Concerned, he checked his mobile again and found no messages or calls have been left as usual.

“Maybe he knows you let some dirty old Russian stare at you like you are some piece of meat!” The seething anger the sapphire-eyed blond was experiencing at the moment was indescribable, no word in English nor French could depict his absolute hatred for the scarved man. If it were not illegal, he would dispose of the man himself.

“So fucking help me you shitbag, I will leave you in the cold if you don’t shut-up.” Fierce, emerald eyes clashed with sapphire as the lovers slid into the car bringing the tense atmosphere.

The relatively short ride felt drawn out and not a word was uttered between the two men. Francis was still bitter over the whole Russia ordeal, but he felt some of the hot air decompress as he caught a concerned expression cloud Arthur’s generally indifferent features. He was actually worried over Alfred not texting or calling back, feeling a tad bit unloved and jealous, he scoffed and crossed his arms unfairly labeling the Brit as ‘too clingy.’

“What Francis!” The sudden shriek caused the fashionable Frenchman to jump startled, once he had settled back down again he sent a dirty glare at the driver.

“Nothing, just pull into the driveway.” The Brit had half the mind to release his glued hands from the steering wheel and assault the older man next to him but refrained. A sickening feeling had plagued his instincts, stepping from the vehicle, he could tell something was terrible off; Alfred had never failed to meet them at the door when the duo arrived home, or when the snow was horrific as this, the American would shovel it out of the way, but the snow lay undisturbed and no Alfred was present at the door.

Taking a running start, he headed for the doorway and was quick to unarm the door of its precautions. Stepping inside, he shrugged off his coat then quickly covered his nose to prevent the horrid stench of sickness from entering his body. ‘Good god, did something die in here?’ The sickening feeling upped its dosage sending the already jittery blond into a full-blown panic attack.

“Alfred? Alfie?” A faint cough and cry was released and Arthur used his years of trained ears to pinpoint the man’s exact location. “Oh, sweetheart, you look awful! Here let me have a good look at you.” Rushing over to the limb and ragged body on the couple’s couch, Arthur began to assess the damage brought upon the younger gentleman. Sweat beaded the man’s hairline and a ghostly pigmented took over his gorgeous tan skin tone. Sighing the Englishman pushed strands of sweat-soaked hair from those sky-blue eyes as he pressed a pair of crimson lips to the younger nations burning forehead.

“Hiya doll face, aren’t you sight for sore eyes. How was the trip? And where is Francis?” There was a spark of relief and sheer happiness, Alfred once more was able to cup that beautiful pale and freckled cheek along seeing that radiant smile. However, there were supposed to be two smiles he was to see, peering around, it seemed that the Frenchman was nowhere in sight, perhaps not even in the house.

“He is probably still outside, and it was horrible. I kept feeling that you were in some sort of trouble, why didn’t you call us or at the very least me love? It appears that you have been sick for at least a few days now.” Inhaling deeply, Alfred was forced to avert his eyes from his overly concerned lover. How did one explain that depending on their partners made them feel weak? Useless? Clingy?

“Ah, I felt good until this morning,” That was a lie, an utter and at most lie. “And I didn’t think to call you two. I just figured that you were far too busy with you queen and whatnot.” Something stirred within the light blond telling him that Arthur knew he was lying through his teeth. He wasn’t sure if it was the pained look reflecting in those emerald orbs or if he was just simply paranoid.

“I see, but still, if you don't feel good, call one of us. We will come home- Oh, Francis, go start the stove please.” His pain in his eye carried out into his accent as he momentarily took his eyes off the ailing American in favor for the fuming Frenchman.

“Why hmm?!” Francis’ anger had reached an ultimate maximum, how dare this _floozy_ tell him to start the damn stove! Who did he think he was?! Last the Frenchman checked, his shirt didn’t read ‘maid’!

“Why are your panties in a twist?” Alfred, expelling enough energy to sit up, looked at the Frenchman as if he were mad. Arthur, naturally, was relatively calm save for his beat red face and tried to bring the worn looking American down so he could rest more.

“Do you not see, you waste of human shared genetics! He is sick! Now, be a decent boyfriend for once in your life and start the damn stove so I can warm up soup!” If Alfred were not there, he would have beaten the Brit until he couldn’t walk perhaps even to death, but upon inspection, he caught notice of the American's sullied eyes and pale pigment and realized Arthur’s frantic concern.  
Silently, Francis trekked in the kitchen listening to the two whisper amongst themselves as he searched the disorganized space for a suitable pot. It took him a few moments to locate anything due to the fact that certain ailing members of this house refused to anything in rhyme and order.

Yanking open a glossy black cupboard he finally found a relatively sized pot for the soup, grunting in disgust and anger he ran his finger and found entire colonies of dusty bunnies take shape onto his digit. Deciding that if he didn’t give the pot a rinse, Arthur would continue his bitter attitude, and sooner than later engage in another fight with him. Not that he minded their little quarrels, it was just far more pleasant to have England be kind rather than acting like a bitch on his period.

“Do you want me to make you your favorite soup Alfie? How about a film? Maybe that show you adore? I think we still have that record player and some jazz-” A sole finger fell upon his lips as the owner of the foreign digit softly smiled and inched over, leaving a space just large enough for the Brit’s slim body. “Cuddles?” Alfred nodded and patted the open space as if he were getting it ready for him. “I think I can manage that my love.” Gracefully sliding into the shaking arms, Arthur purposely curled into the other man’s chest like a small kitten knowing it would calm him down and cause the American to feel dominant over the smaller male.

Judging from his blatant lie earlier, Alfred more than likely needed to feel dominate and secure. Of course, Arthur thought, it was absolutely ridiculous and just proved how truly insecure the American naturally was but each one of them needed their ridiculous little needs. A moment passed and the blond found himself smiling, Arthur knew his tactic had worked once more, the American protectively wrapped his arms around the Brit and held him close, burying his nose into his hair.

Casting eyes upon the cuddling duo Francis grunted while holding the bowl of steaming soup. “I bet you wouldn’t be cuddling him if you knew what happened.” All the perfectly content Englishman heard was incoherent murmurs however Alfred heard every word.

“What happened?” Setting the porcelain bowl down with a rather loud clink and shrugging away the unamused look the Brit sent his way, Francis sat at the end of the couch with a slightly smug expression.

“Well! Nothing too important happened today except the fact that Arthur didn’t do a damn thing when Russia was eye stripping him!” Alfred for a second thought of Ivan’s eyes sprouting hands stripping England without his consent and it enraged him. However he knew his rage was unlogical due to the fact that, 1) that commie bastard’s eyes could grow hands 2) even if they did, they wouldn’t even think to come near Arthur or else there would be serious repercussions.

“If I were him, I’d look at Arthur too.” Arthur glanced up with surprised wide emerald orbs and Alfred felt his heart flutter at the shocked innocence rolling of the Brit in waves. “Besides, Arthur can not control that man’s eyes and so what if he looks? He can look and fantasize all he wants, but he clearly knows he can’t have Arthur because he is ours.” When the last of the argument fell from the stronger man’s lips the blond felt his cheeks blaze as he tried to smother the flame in the chest displayed in front of him. “As a side note Francy, you are misplacing your anger, why be upset with the man who can’t control what is happening to him? Shouldn’t you be placing your fiery anger on the Russian? Since you know, he committed this oh so heinous act against your precious little black sheep?”

Alfred’s eye met with Francis, and he saw the anger flicker away into shame, point 1 for Alfred and 0 for Francis. The Frenchman defensively crossed his arms and glanced at the duo and felt a pang of pain when the Brit refused to so much as look at him.

“I don’t think I like you when you are sick Alfred.” Smirking the ill American clung tightly to the smallest man causing him to purr in satisfaction.

“Oh, I do! He is such an intellectual and a charmer!” Arthur placed a firm hand on Alfred’s chest and draped a pale and freckled leg over the man’s waist snuggling him. Oddly enough that adorable action brought a smile to the French nation’s lips for the first time that day.

“Now that all this drama is out of the way, somebody fucking feed me. Or I will have to eat you.” Turning to the unprepared Brit, the smiling sky-eyed blond latched his teeth onto the Englishman and began to nibble softly causing Arthur to giggle softly and reach for Francis.

“Oh! Francis save me! This cannibal is eating me! Oh please save me, darling!” Giggling himself, Francis shifted over and began to kiss the Brit and American. “Whaa! This isn’t saving me!” The English nation cried out with a small pout throwing his arms over the Frenchman’s broad shoulders.

“I know!” The long-haired blond exclaimed, scooping both men up and attacking them with kisses as they pleaded for mercy through a wall of laughter. “I do think that we should feed Alfie though, it will help him recover.” Taking a moment to calm down for his hysterical laughter, Arthur nodded in agreement and Alfred’s stomach rumbled begging to be fed.  


Catching his queue Arthur removed himself from the warm embrace in favor of retrieving the man’s soup. Briefly inspecting it, he was very pleased to see wisps of steam escape from its liquid imprisonment.

“Would you like us to feed you mister sick baby?” Arthur cooed as he retrieved the lukewarm soup from the glass coffee table and gathered a healthy dosage the liquid onto the spoon.

 “Actually, yes, yes I would. Feed me, you pleb.” Arthur gasped and Francis snorted in amusement. “I- I’m sorry.” Alfred had to cover his mouth to stifle the mad giggles that his body was producing.

“My word! How dare you! I suppose since you are so high and mighty that I never need to allow you to ravish my backside huh!” The giggling dropped and Alfred shifted around uncomfortably, trying not to form a pout. “Uh-huh, how do you like those apples?” Alfred leaned forward and quickly gave the other man a peck on the nose and a charming smile hoping to be granted forgiveness. A moment later Arthur returned the peck and giggled as the American released a sigh of relief.

Smiling at the pair, the lushes haired Frenchman rolled his eyes and removed himself from the scene. “I’ll be back darlings, I can only assume Alfred sweated a hole through the sheets.” Arthur of course giggled and the American turned away sheepishly with a light blush glazed on his cheekbones.

“Yeah, Yeah, shut your mouth sugar, if you were sick the sheets would have jumped out the damn window.” A soft snort could be heard as France fluttered up the staircase with a bundle of fresh sheets. “Alright, now that is over, please let me eat. I am so damn hungry.” England smiled and nodded obediently as he gathered liquid onto the spoon and held it to the younger nations lips.

“Say ahh, here comes the airplane, nnneeaoowww.” Far too exhausted and hungry to resist the Brit’s mocking antics, America caved and shamelessly ate the airplane.

~~~

Quite some time had passed which resulted in an empty soup bowl and a drowsy American willing his caretakers to leave him be and sleep. Arthur at the moment was the main offender to his needs because the old man was now heavying him up the two flight staircase muttering curses and profanities.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, you fat arse, I am not your personal bedding.” An annoyed zombie-like groan was heard from the American as Arthur magically managed to reach the master bedroom and kick in the door. “Help. Me. Please.” The Brit wheezed out to the Frenchman who was brushing that envious blond silky hair of his. “I shall perish if you don’t.”  
Chuckling at younger former Empire, Francis looped one bulky arm over his shoulders as their combined efforts lead to depositing the half-conscious man of pure muscle onto the king-sized bed. “My good lord and heaven, I was not expecting such a workout. It is almost like the after affect of sex!” France panted as he bent over using his knees as stabilizers all the while chuckling at his comment.

“Minus the stickiness.” Arthur chimed inn also panting. “Mmm, I am tired, let's join the big baby and go to sleep.” The suggestion was far from a bad one, and to show his agreement Francis shed his troublesome work shirt and slid underneath the thick crimson duvet, motioning for the day worn Brit to join him.

“Allow me to make up for the day's event my love.” A soft blush pepper the Englishman’s lips as he slipped in between the snoring American and into the Frenchman’s waiting arms. “Night Cher.”

“Night Frog.”


End file.
